The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(47)

His eyes flared. He took a step closer, and the heat of his body washed over her. “Pity wasn’t what I felt at all.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Lust. That’s what he meant, and the acknowledgment set all of her already frazzled nerves prickling with heat. The thought that he could lust for someone like her seemed inexplicable. Men like him didn’t spare her two glances.

She tried to ignore his closeness, but his tall, muscular body loomed over her in the bright sunlight, enveloping her with his fierce masculine essence. He put his hand on her hip and it felt like a brand. A claim.

Her heart pounded against her ribs. God, he was going to kiss her again. For one reckless moment—before prudence and self-preservation took over—she wanted it. But she couldn’t let him know how intensely her body reacted to him. He would only use it against her. She wouldn’t become a game. A challenge. Another woman to fall to his feet. Just one more in a long line of conquests for a Viking raider.

Though every instinct in her body clamored to surrender to her senses, she forced herself to stand boldly before him, giving no hint to how deeply he affected her. How her body was quivering for him. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life. Who are you to pass judgment? A man who flashes a grin and turns everything into a joke so that he can avoid making any real attachments.”

His jaw grew so taut she wondered if she’d gone too far.

“You don’t know what you are talking about.”

But she did. She’d been surrounded by perfection her whole life and seen the destruction wrought when you fell in love with it. “Everything is easy for you. People like you without even trying. Why wouldn’t they? You’re handsome, witty, charming—irrepressibly likable. It all comes so naturally that you never have to work at anything deeper.”

“Who says I want anything deeper? Maybe I’m perfectly happy the way I am.”

She gazed up at him, one side of her mouth lifting in a sad semblance of a smile. “That’s exactly my point.”

He wasn’t the sort of man who would steal her heart. She wanted that deep connection. He took nothing seriously, and she took everything seriously. She might be drawn to him, but the very things that did so—the excitement, the wild, untamed spirit—were the very things that made him wrong for her. If she let him, he would only break her heart.

Erik was perfectly happy the way he was; he didn’t need to be lectured by some uptight little nursemaid with big hazel eyes and a know-it-all mouth that also happened to be one of the most lush, kissable-looking mouths he could recall.

Was it his fault people liked him?

Why did she have to be so bloody serious about everything? Couldn’t she just relax and have a little fun?

He didn’t know why he was so angry. “I’m hardly likely to fall prey to a man like you.” That had started it. He should be grateful she didn’t fancy herself enamored with him. But something about the way she’d said it—so matter-of-factly—made him feel lacking. As if she’d measured him against some invisible nursemaid stick and he’d come up short. It was ludicrous … ridiculous … crazy. He’d never come up short in anything in his life.

And did she have to sound so bloody sensible about the whole thing? He was the one that had the voice of reason: “it’s nothing serious,” “it’s only natural”—those were his lines. He was the one who was supposed to be softening the blow, trying to let her down easily.

His eyes narrowed on the flutter of the delicate pulse below her neck. Perhaps she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to think.

Perhaps she wasn’t unaffected at all.

He was tempted to prove it—damned tempted. He felt a perverse desire to push and push against that resistance of hers until she broke, releasing the curious, adventuresome woman he sensed buried behind the imperious facade. To prove that she was no different.

But he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out where it led—or maybe it was because he knew exactly where it would lead. To her under him. Or, knowing Ellie, probably her on top of him.

Ah, hell. He shifted uncomfortably. Taut little br**sts. A slim waist to wrap his hands around. Long, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she rode him hard, probably trying to boss him around. The image once pictured was hard to get out of his mind.

But it would never do. He liked undemanding women, and Ellie, with her penetrating eyes and probing questions, would demand far more than he wanted to give. He liked his life just the way it was, damnation.

He dropped her arm and took a step back. “We’ll leave by week’s end.”

He had to meet the McQuillans on the thirteenth, whether Randolph was recovered or not.

She held his gaze for a long moment, and he would have given up swiving for a month—or at least a few more days—to know what she was thinking. Was she disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her? Or was she just disappointed in him?

After an uncomfortable pause, she asked, “Where will you take me?”

He knew what she was asking, but he couldn’t take her home. Not yet. “Come,” he said, leading her along the path. “It isn’t much farther.”

They walked for another fifteen minutes or so before the breeze sharpened with the scent of the sea, and their destination came into view ahead. He didn’t know if she realized that they’d traversed the small island, which was less than a mile north to south and only slightly wider east to west.